


misinterpretations

by writelights



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Les Mis Holiday Exchange 2019, M/M, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-16
Updated: 2019-12-16
Packaged: 2021-02-26 00:14:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21814255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writelights/pseuds/writelights
Summary: misinterpretation - the action of interpreting something wrongly.
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Kudos: 39
Collections: Les Mis Holiday Exchange (2019)





	misinterpretations

**Author's Note:**

  * For [swear_it](https://archiveofourown.org/users/swear_it/gifts).



> Happy holidays!! This was a lot of fun to work on, and I hope you enjoy it. Also, I don't like the title and I'll probably change it if I come up with something better.

Enjolras doesn’t knock on doors. It’s a habit that’s gotten him in an awful lot of uncomfortable situtions over the years, ranging from walking in on his mother wrapping his Christmas presents to walking in on Courfeyrac making out with a stranger on his couch (luckily they hadn’t gotten any farther than that). 

Right now, of course, is another time in his life where Enjolras deeply regrets not knocking. It’s nothing bad, not even overly unusual, but he had really wanted to pick up the posters and get done with this afternoon trip to Grantaire’s apartment as quick as humanly possible. But no, Grantaire is dancing. And Enjolras can’t help but stand and watch.

He’s got some old song on and he’s dancing around his kitchen like he hasn’t got a care in the world, let alone a meeting with Enjolras scheduled for around five minutes ago. Enjolras shouldn’t find it so endearing, but he can’t bring himself to make his presence known. To interupt Grantaure right now would be blasphemous, and Enjolras had never been one to desecrate sacred things. 

It takes Grantaire another few minutes to notice Enjolras standing there, and Enjolras isn’t disappointed (or maybe he is, but he’d never admit it). “Enjolras,” he says, straightening his clothes, “how long have you been here?”

“Long enough,” he replies, attempting to clear his head. He’s just here to get the posters, and he wasn’t enjoying watching Grantaire dance. He doesn’t even like Grantaire. He doesn’t want to spend time with him, or talk to him, or hold his hand, or kiss him, and he definitely does not stay up at night thinking about just that.

“You’re hear for the posters, right?” Enjolras nods. Of course he’s here for the posters. What else would he be here for? “Great, I’ll go get them now.”

Grantaire heads into his bedroom, pausing the music on his way there. It hits Enjolras that this is the first time he’s been in Grantaire’s apartment for any amount of time, and that it’s nowhere near as messy as he would have thought. There’s a few dirty dishes in the sink, sure, and a few unfinished drawings resting on the counter, but in truth it’s far neater than his own kitchen. 

Grantaire comes back out, posters in hand. “I’m sorry, they’re not that great, but Courfeyrac said they’d do.” He hands them to Enjolras, who sets them down on the table for a closer look.

“They’re fine,” he says, though in reality they’re way more than fine. They’re amazing, if he’s being honest. He’s always liked Grantaire’s art style, the way he makes things jump off the page, and these are just as gorgeous as everything else he’d ever drawn (maybe even more so, because he drew these for Enjolras, and that makes them even better).

“Well, I’ve got some soup on, if you’d like to stay for dinner?” Enjolras had not been expecting Grantaire to ask that question. He should say no, he’s got other things to do, he’s got plans with Combeferre. 

“Yes,” he says, because he’s incapable of saying no to Grantaire.

Grantaire is quiet for a few seconds, as if he hadn’t expected Enjolras to say yes. Then, he says, “Cool. Cool. I’ll just get down a couple bowls and it should be ready in a few minutes.” When Enjolras doesn’t move, he adds, “You can sit down, if you like.”

“Right.” He pulls out a wooden chair and sits down. He really shouldn’t have said yes, but he did, and now he has to deal with it. “I really do like the posters,” he says, unsure of how else to start a conversation.

Grantaire gives him a bewildered look. “They’re not even that good, they’re sketchy and disproportionate and wonky. I hate them.” He ladels some soup into each bowl and brings them over to the table, setting one down in front of Enjolras and then sitting down on the opposite side of the table. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird.”

“Yes, I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?” He swirls his soup around with his spoon. He’s not sure what kind it is, but it smells delicious. Of course Grantaire can cook. There’s not a lot he can’t do.

“Typically you don’t want anything to do with me,” Grantaire replies, stirring his own soup. Oh, if only he knew how wrong he was. For a very brief second, Enjolras considered telling him. He squashed that urge almost as soon as it arose.

However, he couldn’t deny what Grantaire has said. He spent a good amount of his time trying to ignore him. Eventually, he settled on, “I don’t dislike you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He takes another bite of his soup (which tastes just as good as it smells, by the way).

“You don’t have to lie. I know you don’t like me, and that’s perfectly okay, but right now you’re sending really mixed signals and I don’t like it.” Grantaire sounds upset, and he’s staring at Enjolras intently now. 

“I don’t dislike you,” he repeats, far quieter this time. Is that how he’d come across to Grantaire? Sure he was snappy, and he avoided him, and-

Oh. Of course that’s how he’d come across to Grantaire. 

Without thinking, Enjolras sets down his spoon, stands up, and walks around the table to Grantaire. The artist is watching him intently, and Enjolras is careful to meet his gaze. “I don’t dislike you.” He brushes a stary piece of hair out of Grantaire’s face. His breath catches when Enjolras’s hand touches his skin. 

After a second, Grantaire reverently pulls Enjolras’s hand from his face and hold it in his own. Neither of them wants to speak, but eventually Enjolras breaks the silence. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, and Grantaire nods.

It’s gentle and careful and nervous and not at all what Enjolras had imagined it would be like, but wonderful all the same. Enjolras pulls away and looks at Grantaire’s eyes (they’re green, they’ve always been green, but he’s never noticed the little golden spots before). “Will you teach me how to dance?”

Much to Enjolras’s surprise, Grantaire starts laughing before kissing him again. “How long did you stand there and watch me dance?”

“Long enough,” he replies, and this time it's a far more positive answer.


End file.
